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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25039705">Fortes Fortuna Iuvat</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterrenhemel/pseuds/sterrenhemel'>sterrenhemel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Blood and Violence, Getting Together, Gladiators, Graphic Description, M/M, Pompeii AU, Roman Empire, Slow Burn, The Romans, set before the eruption of the Vesuvius</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:22:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,107</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25039705</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterrenhemel/pseuds/sterrenhemel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He spared the Vesuvius one last glance, admiring its beauty, and how it stood out against the whole city. The mountain gave him this eerie feeling, because of its all-consuming and powerful vibe. As if it were something that one day would take over the city that had been built underneath it.</p><p>Also known as the Berlermo Pompeii!AU, set in the year 79 AD, where Martín and Andrés are both living in the city of Pompeii right before the eruption of the Vesuvius takes place.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Berlermo Bingo</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. chapter one</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello everyone, and thank you so much for reading. I wrote this idea for the Berlermo Bingo: Out of Spain! </p><p>It's been a few years since my last Latin courses, so bear with me and my inaccurate use of some words! </p><p>The story of what happened in Pompeii was tragic, so I thought; why not give our already angst-fueled ship some more pain? :))) </p><p>You can always follow me on my <a href="https://mobile.twitter.com/HANNIB4L">twitter</a>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Fortes Fortuna Iuvat. </em>
</p><p>That’s what Martín had heard at least once a day, in the corridors right under the amphitheatre. At first, he hadn’t really bothered to understand the quote. He had just went with it, agreed to it. After all, the quote was prominently used in the Roman Empire, by everyone. Who was he to question its meaning?</p><p>But, as the months passed, he grew to hate it. “Fortune favours the brave.” It was dumb. The quote implied that, sure, bravery or boldness were important things to have. They were the beginning of an action. But in the end, it all eventually came down to fortune, to luck. </p><p>And Martín had never been lucky. He was imprisoned, forced to become a gladiator, to entertain the Roman public. To fight to his death, he was sure.</p><p>He was getting ready for his last fight. He’d get a chance to fight for his freedom, today. Or he’d end up like many of the ones that had fought before him. Skin pierced through with knives, stabbed to their deaths, while thousands of spectators celebrated. </p><p>He was putting on his <em> galea </em> , his helmet. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, his hands sweaty. He was terrified. He took his <em> scutum </em>, a large oblong shield that was made from three sheets of wood that were glued together and topped with a leather coating, hoping it would be enough to protect himself from his opponent. </p><p>“Palermo, it’s your turn,” he heard someone yell at him, calling him by his alias they had given him when he had been captured. His vision was already starting to cloud, but he tried to calm himself down by taking a few deep breaths. Now was not the time to lose his consciousness. </p><p>He stepped forward, carefully. He put his sword in his holster, and held tightly onto it. He kept staring at his feet, only looking up when his sandals came in contact with the hot, scorching sand. He turned his head to the right, seeing many people in the tribunes, staring at him. He let his gaze go over the whole crowd in the amphitheater, growing angrier every passing second.</p><p>How dare these people sit here, looking at him, fighting for his life, as if it were some sick form of entertainment? How could they go home, without feeling guilty? He would never understand. He hated them. Every single one of them. </p><p>There was a speech starting somewhere in the background, Martín registered at the back of his mind. The emperor was addressed in it, and everyone clapped. Then, they announced the names of the gladiators. First his name, then the other one’s. He couldn’t recall how his opponent was called, blood was already rushing through his ears. He did remember the face, though. It was one of the younger gladiators that were recruited, probably not older than twenty. It sent a cold shiver down Martín’s spine. </p><p>The bell signal rang through the crowd, signaling that it was time to start with the fight. His opponent took a few steps forward, into his direction. Martín tried to steady himself, and took his sword out of the holster again. He used the skills he’d learned in practice, to shield himself from the other’s movements. It was working pretty well. He was used to this type of fighting, and had done it plenty of other times already. </p><p>But then, the other man changed his tactics and another sway came his direction. Martín moved his shield to block it out, but he wasn’t quick enough. The other had aimed for a part of him that wasn’t covered in armour. The razor-sharp edge of the sword cut through his clothing, making a deep cut on his arm. Martín cursed, it was hurting like hell. He was sure it was bleeding profusely, but he tried to ignore it, thanking the Gods that it wasn’t his practiced arm that had been wounded. </p><p>The fight kept on going for about twenty more minutes, and Martín was growing tired and dehydrated. His mouth felt like a desert, and he couldn’t produce any more saliva to wet his already chapped lips. His heartbeat had been going in overdrive for the whole fight, and he was surprised he hadn’t gone into cardiac arrest yet. </p><p>He could see his opponent growing tired too. They were both almost at their breaking point, and Martín figured that it would only be a matter of minutes now, before either of them would make a mistake. </p><p>The crowd had grown unbearably loud, screaming chants of names that he couldn’t understand. He tried not to focus on what was being yelled, either. It would only distract him, and that would end fatally. </p><p>And then, a few minutes later, it finally happened. The gladiator in front of Martín wanted to step forward, aiming for Martín’s chest. But he tripped over a stone, making him lose his balance. Martín worked him to the ground quickly, confiscating his sword in the process. He put his own sword against the other’s throat, trapping him with his body. </p><p>Hovering over him for a moment, Martín started doubting his actions. It wasn’t right. He <em>knew</em> it wasn’t right to take the life of another person. But it was the only way, to save himself. To finally be freed from this hell he’d been in for years. He stared into the eyes of his foe, his gaze blurred by tears, before doing what would keep haunting him forever. </p><p>“Finish it,” he heard the man whisper. He nodded, trying to breathe, but he couldn’t. This person was only a <em> child </em>, someone who still had their whole life in front of them. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” He whispered then, still holding the other man’s terrified gaze. He took the sword, and in one quick motion, he slit the throat of his contender. An ugly sob escaped his own lips as the blood poured out from the man’s neck and mouth, onto his hands and face, making a sticky mess. </p><p>He dropped the sword on the ground, and puked out what could only be considered gall, before collapsing onto the sand. The public was chanting his name, but he didn’t feel euphoric. He felt empty.  </p><p>Two men, one of them being the <em> editor </em>, the one who organised the games, came walking towards him, offering him a laurel crown, together with the promise of freedom. Martín let them place the crown on his head, his eyes still glued to his dead opponent. He shouldn’t have been the one getting dragged away. It should have been Martín. </p><p> </p><p>The rest of the day, went over in a blur. There were people celebrating, offering him drinks in the chique ballrooms, praising him. Shaking his hand, the same one he spent scrubbing blood off of only moments earlier, to congratulate him on his win. Asking him what he was going to do now, now that it was all over and he was finally free. </p><p>Martín didn’t know, to be honest. He had never really thought about it, not wanting to give himself false hope. After all, he’d been convinced he would die in the arena, like many of his friends had. </p><p>At three in the morning, when the moon was shining brightly in the air, he’d finally been able to leave. He had taken what was left of his belongings, along with the sum of 55,000 <em> sesterces </em> he’d earned for his wins. He walked the long roads to the center of Pompeii, unsure of where he was actually going. He would have to buy a place there, to settle.</p><p>To finally start a life. The concept was foreign to him. His whole childhood, he’d been on the run, he’d stolen from all sorts of people, from plebeians to senators, over the whole Roman Empire. And then, he’d been caught, and thrown into this imprisonment in Pompeii, a life full of fighting the only thing his future would hold. </p><p>Until now. But it shouldn’t have happened like this. He’d killed a <em>kid</em>, for the sake of all the Gods! How could he have done that? He was a thief, but he wasn’t a murderer. </p><p>Except, now he <em> was </em>.</p><p>He came to an halt abruptly, steadying himself against the wall. He tried to stop his shaky breathing, fully aware that he was experiencing another panic attack. His hands were shaking, and he slid against the wall, his breathing dissolving into broken sobs. This was not how it should have gone. He shouldn’t even be alive. </p><p>He tried to block out the bloody images, tried focusing on his breathing instead.</p><p>After a while, he seemed to have calmed down enough to get back to a regular breathing rhythm. He decided to stay there on the cold floor, not having the physical nor the mental energy to keep going. He was shivering from head to toe, but he didn’t care about it. He didn’t even try to get some sleep, knowing that he would be seeing the lifeless eyes of the boy - because that was what he was, just a kid, a boy - every time he closed his eyes.</p><p>However, after what seemed like hours, he eventually passed out, there on the cold tiles of the great city of Pompeii</p><p> </p><p>The first thing he heard when he woke up, were people loudly arguing only meters away from him. He groaned, slowly opening his eyes, staring directly in the sun that had set on the horizon.The floor he was still seated on, was growing hotter against his thighs. He figured it must have been around noon, the sun being out for a few hours already. </p><p>He got up, blinking a few times, before realising he’d fallen asleep right in the center of Pompeii, across from the big central market. He saw people being busy with setting up tables full of food, decorating the streets with flowers and preparing large bonfires. The inhabitants of Pompeii were getting ready for the celebration of the god Volcanus, with a big festivity called <em> Vulcanalia </em>, Martín remembered. It usually took place in the hot summer months, and they used the bonfires to sacrifice fish and little animals as offerings. </p><p>He decided to walk around the city a bit. After all, he still needed to search for a place to live. It would be interesting to know what his environment looked like, before deciding on a house to buy. Besides, it would clear his mind to go for a little walk, the memories of yesterday’s horror still painfully engraved into his brain. </p><p>Looking up at the sky, he could see clouds starting to form, the Gods informing him that it would soon start to rain. </p><p>He walked along the long, outstretched road, in the direction of the big mountain that laid at the edge of the town. The mountain, called Mount Vesuvius, was the trademark of Pompeii. </p><p>It took Martín a twenty minute walk to arrive. It seemed like the ideal place to come to his senses again, even though he was sure he would never get the images out of his head. They would always stay there, a reminder of his deeds, of his darkest moments.</p><p>He walked a long way uphill, breathing in the refreshing, welcoming scent of the nature and the flowers. He was about to sit down in the long grass, when he noticed someone else a few metres across from him.</p><p>It was a man, wearing a white <em> toga </em>that was carefully draped over his shoulders. He was sitting cross-legged, his back leaning against a tree, and he was busying himself with some paper and a charcoal pencil.</p><p>If it weren't for the concentrated look on his face, Martín would have greeted him with a quick "<em>Salve</em>", but he knew better than to distract someone who was working. </p><p>However, Martín must've been staring at the man, too long to be considered normal. Because the man snapped out of his work and looked up, directly locking eyes with Martín. From this distance, Martín couldn't make out the look on the other man's face. He didn't have time to look away and pretend to be busy himself, before the man signaled for him to come over. </p><p>Taken aback, Martín raised his eyebrows at that, making a pointing gesture to his own chest, as to ask "Me?". The man on the other side just nodded, a small smile tugging on his lips. </p><p>Martín shrugged then, deciding to give it a shot and see what the other man was up to. He probably just wanted some company. The largeness of the city and its mountain sometimes made the inhabitants feel rather lonely. </p><p>He spared the Vesuvius one last glance, admiring its beauty, and how it stood out against the whole city. The mountain gave him this eerie feeling, because of its all-consuming and powerful vibe. As if it were something that one day would take over the city that had been built underneath it.</p><p>Martín quickly shook his head at that thought, used to his mind bringing up worst-case doomsceneries. Mountains weren't living objects. They couldn't just take control. It were the Gods that would decide someone's faith. </p><p>He took in a deep breath, and turned around. Immediately facing the stranger, who had apparently decided to sneak up to him and was now standing directly behind him. </p><p>He stumbled backwards at the sudden surprise, nearly falling into the kneehigh grass. And he would have actually fallen over, if it weren't for the strong, firm hand that was swiftly placed on his back. </p><p>And then he heard a deep, rough voice.</p><p>
  <em> "Don't worry, I got you." </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. chapter two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sorry it took so long to upload chapter two, but here it finally is. Get ready for the first meeting of Martín and Andrés.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Don’t worry, I got you,” Martín heard the other man say. He looked up at him, staring right into brown, softening eyes. </p><p>“Uh, thanks,” he mumbled, stepping aside to put some distance between them again. He gestured to the ground, signaling that they could sit down. The man nodded, and took place next to him, their backs turned to the mountain. </p><p>“So,” Martín said, unsure how to start the conversation with this unfamiliar man, “what brings you here?” He took a look at the clothes of the other man. He was wearing an off-white <em>toga</em>, fastened with a silver <em>fibula</em>, making clear that he was a Roman citizen. </p><p>“The quiet,” the man said, snapping Martín out of his thoughts, “escaping from the noise of the city. You know how it is.” </p><p>Martín didn’t. He’d only been in Pompeii for one night, and had immediately walked up to the mountain. He had no idea how loud the city could get. He only knew the quietness of the isolated cells underneath the arena. He nodded anyway. </p><p>They sat in silence for a while, before Martín spoke up again. “You draw?” </p><p>The man nodded, opening his sketchbook at a random page. “I usually just draw my surroundings,” he said. Martín took the book from him, turning the pages with care. The drawings were mainly from the nature, the mountain, the city. On the last page, there was an unfinished drawing, of a silhouette sitting cross-legged, in the grass. The position Martín had been sitting in only minutes ago. He raised an eyebrow at the other man, hiding his surprised look. </p><p>“I told you, I draw my surroundings. You happened to be a part of them,” the other man said, not making a big deal of it. Martín laughed at that, the first genuine laugh since quite some time. </p><p>“Sorry for blocking the view,” Martín said, jokingly.</p><p>The other man looked at him with an amused glint in his eyes. He took the book from Martín again, closing it. He stretched out his hand, then, when he spoke.</p><p>“My name is Andrés, by the way. Andrés de Fonollosa.”</p><p>The last name sounded familiar to Martín. It was the name of one of the most known senators of Pompeii. He’d heard people in the corridors either praise or despise him, there was no inbetween. It could be a coincidence, but he still had to ask.</p><p>“De Fonollosa? Like the senator?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. According to the toga Andrés was wearing, he was just a normal civilian. Togas worn by senators usually had a wide purple hem on the side. </p><p>“Yes, I’m his son,” Andrés said, sighing, “I’m not proud of it either. I’m glad I got out of there.”</p><p>Martín nodded, he didn’t want to pry any further, even though he was curious. He kept quiet, listening to whatever Andrés was willing to tell him, a stranger. </p><p>“He wanted me to become his successor, as a senator. I didn’t want that, so I told him. I’ve seen horrible things happen. I had enough. I told him I wanted to be an artist. He spit in my face, declared me crazy. Then he threw me out,” Andrés continued, his gaze somewhere behind Martín</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Martín said, voicing his compassion. He didn’t know what else to add. He was genuinely sorry for Andrés. He understood how it felt to be forced to do things you never wanted to do. At least Andrés had been able to escape from it all.</p><p>“It’s fine,” Andrés said, snapping out of it. His eyes searched Martín’s again, “you still haven’t told me your name.” </p><p>“Martín Berrote,” Martín said, his eyes anywhere but looking at Andrés when he added, “but you might know me better as Palermo.”</p><p>He thought he heard Andrés inhale sharply at his last sentence, but when he looked at him again, the other’s eyes were unreadable. </p><p>“The gladiator,” he said. Martín nodded, ashamed of who he was, “it explains the blood on your <em> tunica </em>.” </p><p>Martín’s eyes snapped to his clothing, silently cursing himself when he saw the stains of blood still on his clothes. He realised that he didn’t even know whose blood it was, on him. It made him shudder.</p><p>“The gladiator, yes,” he said, confirming Andrés’ words, “but not anymore.”</p><p>“It’s not that easy to erase your entire identity,” Andrés said, “trust me on that.” </p><p>“I know,” Martín answered, “but it’s the only way for me to keep sane. By acting as if that person wasn’t me, but someone else. I <em> never, </em>” he took one deep breath, trying to calm himself down, “never wanted to kill anyone.” </p><p>Without realising it, Andrés had started to shuffle closer to him. He took a blanket from his bag, draping it over Martín’s shoulders.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Martín asked him.</p><p>“You were shaking. And, it gets cold up here,” Andrés answered honestly, “so I gave you a blanket, Martín.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Martín said, feeling warmth spread through him when he took over the blanket. He didn’t know if the warmth he felt came from the blanket, Andrés’ sudden closeness, or from the fact that Andrés had referred to him as Martín, and not used his gladiator name, like others would usually do.</p><p>“But, to come back to what you said, I understand. I understand the self-hatred you feel. How you wish you could turn back time, and not make the same mistake again,” Andrés answered, his tone not as neutral as before anymore. </p><p>“I killed a <em> child </em> , Andrés,” Martín said, disgust clear in his voice. He couldn’t even look at him when he said it, “A child! I didn’t even know his <em> name </em>. The only thing I know is that he died because I slit his throat.” </p><p>“You did it to survive,” Andrés said, his hand on Martín’s back, trying to reassure him. </p><p>“But that’s the thing. It shouldn’t have happened. He deserved to live, more than me. I’m a piece of shit, I don’t deserve to be alive, to breathe this air, to <em> sit </em>here, when he’s meters down into the ground,” Martín answered, feeling tears roll down his cheeks. Instantly, he felt pathetic. What was he doing? He was spilling out his heart to this total stranger, almost certainly annoying him with it. </p><p>“I’m sorry, it’s getting late, I should just…,” he said. He looked at the sky, at how the sun was already starting to go down again. He still needed to look for a place to sleep. </p><p>He was about to scramble up from the ground, but then he felt Andrés’ hand on his arm, keeping him seated. He turned to look at him, staring right into those deep, brown eyes once again.</p><p>“Don’t apologise,” Andrés said, “I get it. You feel like your life isn’t worth it, that that other person should have deserved to live, and you shouldn’t. But I’m telling you, you’re wrong. Your life matters, Martín. And again, you did what you had to do, what you were <em>forced</em> to do, because of this atrocious world we live in. You didn’t have a <em> choice </em>.”</p><p>Martín was rendered speechless at that, couldn’t even look at Andrés. He felt like crying. Never had anyone told him that he mattered. The closest he had come to something like that, was the praise he’d gotten for staying alive in the arena. But then again, he’d only been seen as an instrument. A fighting tool, for the Roman entertainment. </p><p>He let out a shaky breath, just nodding at Andrés’ words. He didn’t dare to speak just yet, almost sure that his voice would break if he did. </p><p>Andrés stretched out his hand, a bit hesitant, as if scared to overstep. He wiped away the new tears on Martín’s cheek, doing it as softly as possible. As if he was scared he would break Martín if he used a bit more force. </p><p>“Thank you,” Martín said after a while, when he found his voice again, “for this. For your words. It felt good to finally let all of that out.” He smiled at Andrés, and thought of how grateful he was that he’d met him. He felt like he could trust Andrés, which was stupid, since they’d only just met each other not even an hour ago. But still, he already considered Andrés a safe place. Maybe it was also just because of the fact that he was a stranger, that Martín didn’t have any difficulty opening up to him.  </p><p>“With pleasure, Martín,” Andrés answered. </p><p>The both of them walked away from the Vesuvius, side by side, down the hill. The walk back to Pompeii was, surprisingly, not a quiet one. Andrés talked about the functions of many of the buildings they passed. When they arrived at the forum, Martín decided it was time to split ways. </p><p>“As much as I enjoyed our talk today, I think I should go start looking for a place to stay,” he said, “it’s getting dark, and I’m not looking forward to another day on the street.”</p><p>Andrés nodded at that, looking a bit disappointed. Martín turned around and was about to step away from him, when he heard the man speak again.</p><p>“You can stay with me?” </p><p>Martín turned around almost immediately, trying to keep his face as neutral as possible despite the sudden happiness he felt. Still, he was a bit hesitant. He just met this man, and he was already offering his house as a place to stay? </p><p>“That’s… Very generous of you, Andrés. But, I don’t want to intrude like that,” Martín said, his voice a bit unsure. </p><p>“It’s really not a problem, Martín. I have space, and a guest <em> cubiculum </em> for you. You will have to share the <em>tablinum</em>, <em>culina</em> and <em>atrium</em> with Venus, though,” Andrés said, a smile on his lips.</p><p>Martín raised his eyebrows at the mention of the Roman goddess, “Venus? As in, Venus, the mother of Aeneas? The ancestor of the Roman folk?” he asked. </p><p>Andrés laughed at that, a deep, wonderful sound that made his whole face light up, “Yes, that Venus. But it’s also the name of my life companion, my cat.”</p><p>Martín smiled. He never had any animals, when he was younger. His family already struggled to feed themselves on good days, so taking care of an animal, was absolutely out of the question. Still, he loved to have a cat or a dog one day. He craved the company, the result of basically having been on his own his entire life.</p><p>“Right, that won’t be a problem. Thank you so much, Andrés. It means a lot to me that you’re letting me stay with you,” Martín said, trying to voice the extent of his gratitude. </p><p>“Don’t worry about it, Martín,” Andrés said, “now, follow me to your new home.” </p><p>Martín nodded, feeling a bit of weight fall off of his shoulders. That was one less thing to worry about, he thought. He walked next to Andrés, looking at the city and the streets they passed, taking in the beauty of the city that he’d never seen before. He was appreciative of the fact that he could finally see something else than dark dungeons, cells and sword fights but he still felt the guilt swell up in his chest, unable to ignore it. </p><p>After a ten-minute walk, they arrived at Andrés’ house. He stepped inside, with Martín following behind hesitantly. The <em>atrium</em> looked beautiful, the walls an azure blue shade, a table in the middle, with a golden vase on it, several purple tulips inside. </p><p>“You can put your stuff in here, and I’ll give you a quick tour,” Andrés said, gesturing to a brown wooden closet in the right corner of the <em>atrium</em>. Martín put his bag in it, together with his belongings, and followed Andrés. </p><p>When he walked up the stairs to the guest <em>cubiculum</em>, he saw something shoot past him in a hurry, making him almost stumble. Andrés, already ahead of him, noticed it, and quickly grabbed Martín by his arm, preventing him from actually falling down the flight of stairs. </p><p>“That must have been Venus,” Andrés said with a fond, loving look. Martín couldn’t decipher if the look was meant towards the cat or towards him. Nevertheless, it made him feel warm all over. </p><p>When they arrived at the <em> cubiculum </em>, Venus had installed herself on the queen sized bed that stood in the middle of the room. She looked majestic, with her orange fur and her green eyes that looked at Martín in an interested way, although the cat seemed a bit wary of him as well. He was probably an intruder in her eyes.</p><p>Martín walked over to Venus, calmly as if not to startle her. He seated himself on the bed, placing one of his hands in the orange, soft fur hesitantly. He half expected the cat to get up and scratch him, but instead she started purring, seemingly satisfied. </p><p>“She usually isn’t that fond of guests,” Andrés said. His warm voice was very close to Martín, making him almost jump. Andrés was standing next to the bed, placing his hand on Martín’s shoulder, “but there’s this myth...,” he trailed off, seating himself next to Martín on the bed. </p><p>Martín tore his gaze away from the cat, and turned around to Andrés fully. He was immediately greeted by sweetly intense, glinstering eyes. He could see himself in their reflection. He took a deep breath, trying not to get drowned by their intensity. Instead, he focused himself on what Andrés was saying. </p><p>“A myth?” he asked, curiously looking at Andrés, barely registering the cat coming to sit between them.</p><p>“Well, I don’t really know if it’s an actual myth,” Andrés admitted, his eyes tracing Martin’s face delicately, “but my mother used to say that if you gave an animal the name of a god, not only the name, but also all the abilities of that god were transferred to the animal, giving it power. Venus is the goddess of love, beauty and desire, as you know,” he stopped shortly, to pet his cat, his hand brushing with Martín’s, “and my little Venus here, seems to have a sixth sense for these things, only picking out the people who meet her expectations. She thinks you’re <em> very </em> beautiful.”</p><p>Martín inhaled sharply at those words, at the way Andrés’ voice went a bit deeper at the end of his speech. He swallowed, trying to avoid the intense gaze he could feel Andrés giving him. </p><p>“She’s probably just glad I don’t smell like another cat, or have the scent of a dog on me,” he said, quickly. He’d never before believed in myths, anyway. In the arena, those things wouldn’t help you. And yet, he felt his heart rate speed up, betraying how the words affected him. Which was silly. He barely knew Andrés. He was just being friendly, there was nothing more to it.</p><p>Still, he regretted the words as soon as he’d spoken them. He felt Andrés get up from the bed and hated how much colder he felt without the other man’s touch.</p><p>“Yeah, that's possible too,” Andrés said, his face crafted back into an unreadable expression.</p><p>“But, I’m glad I got the approval of your cat to stay in your house,” Martín added, with a smile. He felt a bit bad for his earlier reaction, Andrés had just offered him a compliment. </p><p>"You can stay as long as you want," Andrés said, smiling at Martín, although the earlier glint in his eyes wasn't there anymore.</p><p>"Thank you, again. I don't know what I would have done without your help," Martín answered. </p><p>"I'm sure you would have figured something out," Andrés said, "and if anything, I should thank you, for today. You surely made my day a lot more interesting." </p><p>It was the last thing Andrés said before exiting out of Martín's room. Martín decided to take off his shoes and climb into the bed. He was ready to get a bit of sleep, feeling the fatigue take over from walking around the whole day.</p><p>Venus snuck up behind him, jumping into his lap. She started stroking her head against Martín's hand, signaling that she wanted him to resume his petting from earlier. So that's what he did, smiling softly at her. </p><p>Martín closed his eyes, thinking back on his day, on the beautiful city, but mostly, on his encounter with Andrés. </p><p>When he dozed of, he couldn't help but wonder if it was ridiculous to think that the beauty of the Vesuvius paled in comparison to the wonders that Martín had seen in Andrés' eyes.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>To clarify some of the words used:</p><p>Fibula: a pin, a clip<br/>Cubiculum: the bedroom<br/>Tablinum: the study<br/>Culina: the kitchen<br/>Atrium: the hall</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. chapter three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I'm sorry it took me so long to write this chapter, but here it is. Trigger warnings here for blood, violence and panic attacks!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>The corridors underneath the arena were ice cold, dark, and stank of something so horrendous, that it made Martín have difficulties with breathing. He heard the squeaking of the hinges of his cell, and a pair of heavy boots entering. He was sitting in the corner, trying not to make any noise, a poor attempt at trying to stay hidden, so he wouldn’t catch their attention. It didn’t help.  </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>One of the guards walked in his direction, ordering him to get up. He didn’t - couldn’t get up, frozen with dread. He was back in the arena, and he didn’t even know how he had gotten there. He wanted to get out. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The sudden force he felt, made him stumble forward. One of the guards was pulling him upright by his hair, most certainly tearing out tufts of it, and maybe even parts of his skin, too. His scalp was hurting and bleeding, but he crawled up. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Martín got dragged through the corridors, falling over multiple times, mostly from the lack of food and water, that made him feel dizzy. The guards didn’t care, and kept hauling him further away from his cell. His knees scraped over the stone floor, certainly leaving wounds. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When they finally reached the arena, Martín felt like passing out. His throat hurt, and he felt his heart thumping in it. He was experiencing another panic attack, and he started hyperventilating. He could vaguely make out the silhouette of one of the guards and felt him spitting in his face. The guard pushed him against one of the wooden poles standing in the centre of the arena, and took a big, metallic chain, tying it around his neck, chaining him against it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It was only then that he could make out the familiar face of the guard. And when he did, he nearly stopped breathing. The face staring back at him, was that of the young man whose life he had taken away days earlier. He was staring at Martín with the most hateful look and a devilish smile. His neck still had the open wound of where Martín slit it with his sword, and it was bleeding. He hovered over Martín, making the blood drip onto his clothes. Martín couldn’t think, didn’t understand how this was even possible. He’d seen this man bleed out on the floor, an image that would haunt him forever, and now he was standing in front of him again? It felt like a scene straight out of a horror movie. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve come to take my revenge on you,” the man said, his voice troubled by the blood he was choking on. Martín couldn’t move, couldn’t say anything back. He held his breath, throwing his eyes up to the sky. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The other man then proceeded to take a knife out of his pocket, holding it against Martín’s arm, pushing it down slowly and dragging it downwards over his arm. The painful sting followed moments later, accompanied by the warm feeling of his blood oozing out of his arm. His head started to feel lighter already, and he had trouble focusing on the man in front of him. He couldn’t have fought back if he tried, because he was too weakened and still chained against the pole. With the last of his powers, Martín tried to speak up. Tried to beg the man for forgiveness. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please, don’t,” was all he managed to bring out, his voice a hoarse whisper. He repeated it, once, twice, twenty times, but it received no response from the other.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s too late," the other man said, laughing maniacally. He took his sword and brought it up to Martín’s throat. He was trembling and had difficulty with breathing. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He felt tears stream over his face, his ragged breathing the only thing he could hear. He knew that it would be over in a few seconds, and he was terrified. Terrified to die. He tried one more time.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m sorry for what I did to you,” Martin whispered.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The man pressed the knife tight against his neck. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m sorry,” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He felt the knife get dragged against his neck. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m sorry,”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The blood started to pour out of his neck. He started to cough. This is it, he thought. This is how I’ll finally die. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He closed his eyes, ready to let the nothingness take over. But it didn’t happen. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Martín,” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He heard his name being screamed, but it felt like he was underwater. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Martín,” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The same voice called him again. He couldn’t focus. The smell of blood had clouded his vision. He opened his eyes one last time, seeing the blur of a worried face now hanging above him. He didn’t understand. Why was he still alive? Why wasn’t his heartbeat slowing down? Why—</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>“Martín!” </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Way too quickly, he shot up, nearly colliding his head with that of another person. He gasped for air, his hands shooting up to his neck, in an attempt to staunch his wounds. He felt nothing, no cuts, no blood. He stared down at his hands for a while, his breathing still ragged, before he felt comforting hands on his back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shhh, it’s okay. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t,” Andrés said with his soothing voice. Martín looked up, right into his worrying eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It wasn’t real.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It had only been a nightmare. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened?” Martín asked him, still breathless. His mind was clouded by the previous events. The horrendous things he’d been experiencing only moments ago. It had all felt so </span>
  <em>
    <span>real. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I heard you screaming,” Andrés said, “I thought someone had broken in at first.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Fuck, I just...," Martín trailed off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Shh, it's okay," Andrés repeated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, I woke you up,” Martín answered, taking deep breaths in between. He felt ashamed that Andrés had to see him like this, a mess.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t. Don’t say sorry, Martín. I don’t mind. I honestly don’t,” Andrés answered, “you had a nightmare, and I think you’re still experiencing a panic attack.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martín felt Andrés’ reassuring hands, drawing soothing circles on his back, trying to calm him down. It was only now that he became aware of his trembling hands, and the fact that his clothes were sticking to his back because of the sweat. He was feeling too hot, his throat felt too tight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s take a deep breath, Martín, together” Andrés said. Martín complied, following Andrés’ instructions. It didn’t really help much at first, he couldn’t focus, his head was pounding and a wave of lightheadedness washed over him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, let’s do it again,” Andrés instructed when he realised Martín’s current state. They repeated it, and again and again, before Martín felt his breathing calm down a bit more, and the knot in his chest slowly loosened. His pounding heart rate was slowing back down to its normal rhythm. They stayed like that for a while, before Martín regained his composure again. He faced Andrés, his eyes sincere. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” he said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have to thank me, Martín. I just want you to be okay,” Andrés responded with a small smile, seemingly dismissing Martín’s gratitude. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still, thank you. You helped me out of a panic attack. And tore me out of a nightmare,” Martín said. Andrés caressed his hair, softly.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. Martín nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was…,” Martín answered, shuddering, “I was back in the arena. The.. the kid I killed… He, he was there. He was killing me, and.. I couldn’t do anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, it’s alright. It wasn’t real. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Martín</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Andrés said, cupping Martín’s face with his hands, forcing him to make eye contact. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martín looked up at Andrés and felt a wave of safety flood him. It was strange, even to him, how much he trusted Andrés, despite only having known him for such a short period of time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was not real.You’re safe here,” Andrés said, continuing his speech. He wiped away the tears that had stained Martín’s cheeks, “you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrés got ready to leave the bed, probably wanting to leave Martín alone for the rest of the night, giving him some privacy. But Martín knew that right now, that was the last thing he wanted. He needed someone there, with him. He grabbed Andrés’ arm, a bit too forceful, pulling him down on the bed again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay with me,” he said, almost a whisper. He knew that he would probably feel embarrassed by it tomorrow morning, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t bear another few hours alone. Not after that nightmare. Andrés nodded, understanding that Martín needed someone right now. He took off his slippers, and climbed into the bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martín felt the bed dip at the weight of Andrés settling next to him. He turned around, so his head was facing the opposite wall. He felt Andrés shuffle closer to, draping one arm over him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this alright?” Andrés asked. Martín felt the hot breath of the man in his neck, and it made him tingle all over. He tried to ignore it, and focused on the warmth that was given him instead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, thank you,” he answered, sounding satisfied. He could feel Andrés’ calm and even breathing behind him and tried to focus on it. The closeness of the other man offered him a comfort he hadn’t felt in years. It had been a very long while since he’d even simply just been </span>
  <em>
    <span>touched </span>
  </em>
  <span>by someone, let alone held. He was used to spending his days alone in his tiny cell with cold stone tiles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He closed his eyes, surrounded by warmth, and for once, his mind didn’t wander back to the arena. In his dream, he was walking around in the fields of Pompeii, accompanied by chirping birds and blooming flowers, while the sun was shining bright on the horizon. He felt at ease, he felt calm. If he wanted to play oblivious, he could reason that it was just an effect of the soft sheets and the quiet neighbourhood, that is was because he finally had something more than a thin blanket to wrap around his chest. That those were the only reasons for his comfort. But that would be idiotic, and cowardice. And Martín Berrote was anything but a coward. He silently thanked whoever was responsible for his meeting with Andrés earlier, and drifted off in a peaceful sleep.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Waking up again, Martín first noticed the absence of warmth beside him. He felt a sting of disappointment in his chest at the realisation that Andrés was gone. He slowly sat upright, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and looked around the room. The window was opened, letting in a refreshing summer breeze. On his nightstand, a full glass of crystal water was placed, probably by Andrés. Venus was sitting at the end of the bed, purring quietly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martín decided to get up, feeling a lot more well-rested than he had expected to be. He took clothes out of the closet that Andrés had laid out for him, and walked over to the bathroom. He took a quick shower, taking his time to wash his hair extensively. The different sorts of oils and lye soaps that Andrés had stalled out in his closet, were a welcoming change from the cheap soap and rust tap water that Martín had to use when he was still a gladiator. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After his shower, he got dressed quickly and walked down the stairs, Venus following him quickly. He became aware of his stomach making a loud rumbling noise, and was ready to walk out of the door to buy some food in the city center, when he heard Andrés’ voice calling him from the </span>
  <em>
    <span>culina</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Martín?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>About to take his jacket from the coat rack, Martín turned around. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes?” he answered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aren’t you hungry?” Andrés asked him. Martín heard the clattering of cutlery against a plate, and the scraping of a chair on the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am, that’s why I’m going to the market. Do you need something? I’ll bring it, if you want,” he said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrés appeared in the hallway. His brown hair was carefully combed back, his toga was draped over him, just like yesterday, but the silver <em>fibula</em> wasn’t present today. Instead, he had changed it to a bronze one in the shape of a bird, which looked beautiful. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I already made breakfast, Martín. There’s enough for two,” he said, a welcoming smile on his face. Martín nodded, happy for the offer Andrés gave him, and walked back inside. He took a glance at the table and all the products stalled out on it. It must have taken Andrés quite some time to set up such a big breakfast. It was probably the reason why Andrés had already been gone when Martín woke up, because he was preoccupied with laying all of it out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Martín said when he took place on the other side of the table, exchanging a genuine smile with Andrés, hoping it would suffice to portray the gratitude he felt for the other man. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope you were able to get some sleep, after all?” Andrés asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I did. I slept better than I had in years after you, well, after you came to check up on me,” Martín answered, finishing his sentence a bit awkwardly. He quickly took the cup of milk in front of him and set it to his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m very glad to hear that, Martín,” Andrés answered, his eyes sincere. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martín simply nodded at that, and took a slice of bread from the table. He wanted to thank Andrés again for being there for him, but he also didn’t want to make it a bigger deal than it was, in fear of making Andrés uncomfortable about it. They ate in silence for a while, before Andrés stood up to rinse his plate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tonight, there’s the start of the celebration for our God Volcanus. The first day of the Vulcanalia Festival. Do you want to come with me?” Andrés asked him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure!” Martín answered. A bit of distraction would certainly do him good. He got up from his chair, and started cleaning up the table. He reached for the can of water, ready to put it away, together with the unused forks and spoons, when he felt Andrés’ hand on his arm. He turned around with a questioning look in his eyes, nearly stumbling backwards on the table when he realised how close Andrés was standing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The strong scent of Andrés' sandalwood perfume reached Martín almost immediately, blended with earthly scents, giving it its depth. He blinked a few times, the smell clouding his thoughts, and tried to force his gaze to focus on Andrés’ eyes, instead of on his lips, that had curved into a thin, but earnest smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me,” Andrés said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martín had been too mesmerized by staring at Andrés' lips to realise the other man had said something, and it took him another good three seconds before he realised that Andrés was talking about cleaning up the kitchen. He averted his gaze, then, but Andrés was everywhere he could look. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“R-right,” he said eventually, stepping away from Andrés again, putting some distance between them, “I’ll, uh, I’ll go for a quick walk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrés just nodded and continued with his work in the kitchen. Martín took that as his cue to leave, and walked through the </span>
  <em>
    <span>atrium</span>
  </em>
  <span>, outside in the morning air of the city. He turned left immediately, planning to visit the big old mountain once again. He could already see it from where he was standing, and he figured it would be a good twenty minute walk. It was exactly the time he needed, to rearrange his thoughts, and preferably clear his mind. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When the sky started to become darker, and the sun was slowly going down, Martín decided to get up again. The day alone had done him good, and he felt refreshed. He’d had time to think about the events from the night, and the morning. He still couldn’t quite grasp completely what it was that made him trust Andrés so much. It was bizarre, he was a stranger, and yet he had never felt so secure with anyone in his life. The fact that Andrés hadn’t even hesitated to comfort him when he was feeling at his worst, made Martín feel warm all over, just like he had when he’d felt those strong arms securely wrapped around him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He started his walk back to the city, not wanting to be late for the start of the festival. He still had to refresh himself and dress up properly for it. It wasn’t as if Andrés had asked him on a date, but still, he wanted to look presentable when he went out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He passed several people who were making last arrangements before the festival would be declared open. He politely greeted them with a small nod of his head, before crossing the center market to Andrés’ house again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he entered, he saw Andrés sitting on the couch, petting Venus who was curled on his lap. Martín decided not to disturb their peaceful interaction, and walked towards the stairs instead, going to his room. He sat down on the bed for a moment, before realising that he didn’t have any decent clothes for a night out. With a frustrated groan, he walked towards the mirror, trying to at least make his face look presentable.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was about to start on his little stubble that had started to form over the course of days, when he heard the door creak open, followed by light footsteps. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How was your walk today?” Andrés asked him. He couldn’t see him yet, but Martín heard a hint of curiosity in the other man’s voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was alright, it felt good to be in the nature,” he answered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you ready for the celebration tonight?” Andrés asked. Martín nodded, and resumed his work on his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I’m almost finished,” Martín answered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrés stepped inside the bathroom, looking at Martín’s face through the mirror. He stepped a bit closer, putting his hand on his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you already look beautiful enough like this,” Andrés said. He let his hand slide from Martín’s shoulder all the way down to his waist. It made Martín drop the little comb he was holding. The clattering sound it made when it fell in the sink, startled both him and Andrés.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He brought a hand through his hair and ignored the comment Andrés made, unable to accept any compliments given to him. He stepped away from the mirror, losing Andrés’ touch when he walked towards his bedroom instead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But, I will give you some clothes,” Andrés said. “Because there’s no way in hell you’re going to the Vulcanalia dressed in your basic <em>tunica</em>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martín wanted to protest and tell Andrés he would go buy something, that Andrés had already done way too much for him, but the other man was already opening the closet and taking every possible <em>toga</em> out of it, laying them all out on the bed. He studied them for a while, and eventually decided on the one with the bold fuchsia border.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This one will make your blue eyes pop,” Andrés said. He turned back to the closet, taking out a wooden box. When he opened it, a whole set of fibulae was revealed. He picked out a silver one, set with two small diamonds, and handed it to Martín. It looked beautiful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This must have cost a fortune, Andrés. I can’t possibly take it. What if I lose it?” Martín said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You won’t lose it. And if you do, that won’t matter. Materials like that aren’t the most valuable things in life,” Andrés said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martín accepted that he’d lost this debate, and took both the <em>toga</em> and the pin from an insisting Andrés hesitantly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s more valuable to you, then?” Martín asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Being remembered. And loved. People, from years ahead of us, still knowing who I was. What I did. Making a difference in this world. That’s the most valuable to me,” he answered, “wouldn’t you want that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martín thought back once more on the arena and the trace of destruction he’d left behind there. He wouldn’t want to be known for that. However, he figured that wasn’t what Andrés was referring to when he talked about being remembered in the future. He did understand where Andrés was coming from. He too, wanted to do good. Wanted to make a difference in this world. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I would. But nowadays, I feel like everything and everyone I touch, dies,” he answered, his voice trembling.”I want to be remembered and I want to be known for doing something good. I want to feel like my existence did matter something, after all. But I just don’t know how.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll figure something out. You always do,” Andrés answered, an honest look in his eyes. He opened the door and walked through it, leaving Martín alone to get dressed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the door closed behind him, Martín wondered if Andrés would be proven right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
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</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. chapter four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Let’s go dancing,” Andrés said, getting up from his seat, he looked desperate to change the subject. “That’s what the festival is about, after all.” He stretched out his hand for Martín, to get back up himself as well. Martín took his hand and got up. </p>
<p>“Okay, let’s go,” Martín said. “But you lead.”</p>
<p>Andrés looked at him in amusement, apparently not having expected Martín to suggest that.</p>
<p>“What? I’m a gladiator. I can’t dance,” Martín answered, a smile on his lips. </p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Martín had to admit it. The Vulcanalia festival was, well, it was <em> fun.</em> Seeing the population of the smaller town come together and dance with each other, reminded him that he was allowed to all of that too. To smile, to dance. To be carefree, even if it were for just one evening. </p>
<p>Having Andrés walk next to him, their hands occasionally brushing together, helped him feel reassured too. He considered Andrés more and more as his anchor, especially after he’d comforted Martín and dragged him out of his panic attack the night before. </p>
<p>“What do you think of it?” Andrés asked, ripping him out of his thoughts. They’d been walking around in the city centre, passing the different stands with food, drinks, music, accessories and little games you could play, all stalled out because of the festival.</p>
<p>“It’s nice. Different to what I’m used to. Makes me stop thinking about what happened,” Martín said, smiling. It felt good to spend his days in an atmosphere where he didn’t constantly have to fear for his life. </p>
<p>“I’m glad you enjoy it. Life’s too short to dwell on our past,” Andrés said, his eyes looking rather glossy. </p>
<p>“I know it is. But it’s still difficult,” Martín said, kicking a stone out of his way.</p>
<p>“I know, Martín,” Andrés said, stopping in his tracks. Martín mirrored his movements, coming to a halt himself. </p>
<p>“I know it’s difficult. But you’re allowed to live, to exist. To <em> feel</em>, Martín. You cannot change what happened. You can’t,” Andrés continued. He sounded upset, Martín hated it.</p>
<p>“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he said, casting his eyes downward, staring at the tips of his shoes instead. </p>
<p>“Don’t do that,” Andrés said. Martín looked up at him again, staring into worried eyes. </p>
<p>“Do what?” Martín asked.</p>
<p>“Apologise. You have nothing to say sorry for, <em> cariño,"</em> Andrés said, and Martín’s heart missed one beat when he heard the nickname roll off Andrés’ lips.</p>
<p>“Okay,” he said, getting ready to say ‘sorry’ once more, but catching himself right on time, swallowing the word back in. </p>
<p>“Now, let’s go. The bonfire starts soon. We can’t miss that,” Andrés said, a grin on his face. He took Martín’s hand in his, caressing it gently. It felt good. Warm. </p>
<p>They walked the short distance to the bonfire, and saw people already sitting in the grass in front of the piles of wood. A few of them, dressed in togas with blue borders, were attempting to make fire. Martín took place next to a tree, resting his head against it. Andrés went to sit right next to him, a bit closer than necessary, but Martín didn’t mind.</p>
<p>A few moments passed by, and then the bonfire was finally lit on fire. People that were seated all around them, cheered. Martín looked up to the big flames that started to lick on the wooden planks and listened to the crackling of the fire. It sounded magnificent, calming even. </p>
<p>He looked to his left, staring at Andrés’ side profile. At his wonderful face that was illuminated by the flames, making Martín see the crinkles by his eyes, that would always appear whenever Andrés gave him one of his genuine, lopsided smiles. He traced Andrés’ features by looking at him, from his eyes, to his nose, all the way down to his lips. Thin, pinkish lips that looked as soft as they would probably also feel. Martín did not know when, or why, for that matter, that particular thought had crept into his mind, but it was a dangerous one, and he knew it was best not to pursue it any further.</p>
<p>He knew he should be cautious, and that he had to stop staring at Andrés, before the other man would realize. The man had awoken something in Martín from the very first moment he’d laid eyes on him, from the moment he’d seen him sitting by the mountain, but Martín couldn’t quite place his finger on <em> what exactly </em> it was that drew him to Andrés. Maybe it wasn’t just one thing. Maybe it was the fact that Andrés had accepted Martín, hadn’t been quick to condemn him because of his past. Maybe it was because he’d invited Martín into his house, which he had made into a home not even one day later, by comforting him through his nightmare.</p>
<p>It was with great difficulty that he eventually tore his gaze away. </p>
<p>“This is nice,” Andrés said, turning his head back to Martín, who nodded, his eyes focussing on the flames in front of him. </p>
<p>“Yeah, it is,” he answered. “You do this every year?” </p>
<p>“Normally, yes,” Andrés said. “But we never went when I was younger.”</p>
<p>Martín noticed how Andrés’ mood had shifted from calm, to held back, even bitter. He didn’t want to pry any further, so he kept quiet. After a beat, Andrés decided to continue anyway.</p>
<p>“I was never allowed. My father was against these kinds of things. It was for the plebeians. Not us. He thought we were better than the rest, when in reality... we were so much worse,” Andrés said, disgusted. Martín turned his head towards him, realising how upset Andrés was looking. He shuffled a bit closer, resting a hand on his shoulder.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to talk about it, Andrés. It’s okay,” he said.</p>
<p>“No, but I want to. It’s fine,” he answered, taking a deep breath. “My father thought lowly of everyone who didn’t wear a toga, of everyone who didn’t have a house. He called them names, sometimes even took people from the streets and made them his own prisoners, his own slaves.”</p>
<p>“That’s awful,” Martín said. He was going to add that he couldn’t believe people like that existed, but in reality, he could. He’d seen things as horrible, or even worse, happen at the arena with his own eyes.</p>
<p>“When he didn’t need them anymore, he…,” Andrés continued, whispering. Martín had to do his best to understand his voice, which was being overruled by the noises of loud chattering all around them.</p>
<p>Andrés was shaking, at the verge of tears. Martín wanted to console him, hold him, even. But Andrés wasn’t allowing it. It felt like he had created an invisible barrier between the two of them in a matter of seconds. </p>
<p>Andrés turned his head back to the bonfire, seemingly ashamed.</p>
<p>“When he didn’t need them anymore, he made me watch while he…,” he trailed off, shivering.</p>
<p>“Andrés…,” Martín tried again. “I mean it, you don’t have to talk about it.” </p>
<p>“But I want to, Martín. I need to. Or I’ll explode,” Andrés said, turning his head back to Martín for a second. He could see the tears that were threatening to come out at any moment now. </p>
<p>“Okay,” Martín said. </p>
<p>“He made me watch while he killed them, Martín,” Andrés said, his voice breaking. The tears started to stream down his face, onto his toga. “Once he decided he didn’t need them anymore, he would do that. I begged him to just let them go instead, he never listened to me.”</p>
<p>“That’s horrible, Andrés,” Martín said, trying to console him. He reached out to Andrés’ face, wiping away at one of the tears that had started to form. </p>
<p>“One day, he decided that just watching wasn’t enough. He gave me my bow and arrow, and forced me to kill one of them. I tried to fight against it, I really did. But he threatened me instead. Threatened to kill <em> me </em>if I didn’t kill that man, with a knife to my throat. I was only thirteen years old,” Andrés said, desperate. His voice was only a whisper, clearly trembling.</p>
<p>“It was on that day that I finally ran away. But I regret everything I did back then. I can still see it, Martín. Whenever I close my eyes. That man didn’t deserve to die, but I do.” </p>
<p>“No,” Martín said. “That’s bullshit.”</p>
<p>“What?” </p>
<p>“You don’t deserve to die. Don’t ever say that again, Andrés.”</p>
<p>“But I killed someone, Martín.” Andrés protested.</p>
<p>“So did I, remember.”</p>
<p>“But that was different, you didn’t have a choice.”</p>
<p>“Neither did you, Andrés!” Martín yelled, tears in his eyes. “You didn’t have a choice either! You got forced to kill a man, by your own <em> father</em>!”</p>
<p>Andrés looked like he was ready to interject again, and Martín absolutely didn’t want that to happen. He couldn’t stand seeing Andrés think so badly of himself, because of something he got forced to do. But then again, he’d felt the same. The blood spilling out of the neck of the gladiator he killed, still haunted him in his nightmares.</p>
<p>Martín took Andrés’ hands in his, then, turning around so that he was completely facing him, and spoke.</p>
<p>“You don’t deserve to die, Andrés. You did what you did back then to survive. And yes, the guilt you feel, I get that. I get that like no one else, because it’s the same for me. It eats me alive. But you can’t change your past. You can only look forward. You’re one of the best people I’ve had the pleasure to meet, you’re a <em> good person</em>, Andrés. And people will remember you, for all the good you’ve done and all the good you will do. Your life matters. <em> You </em>matter, so much.”</p>
<p>Martín knew that it was dangerous throwing Andrés’ own words, which he had spoken to Martín on the mountain, back to him like this, but he also knew that this would be the only way he would be heard by him. </p>
<p>“I don’t deserve you, Martín,” Andrés mumbled, trying to turn his head away from him, to hide how red his eyes were from crying. </p>
<p>“You deserve the world, Andrés,” Martín said, a sincere smile on his face. Andrés locked eyes with him, unsure of what to say. Martín could see he wasn’t fully convinced, but the watery grin Andrés gave him in return, meant a lot already.</p>
<p>“Let’s go dancing,” Andrés said, getting up from his seat, he looked desperate to change the subject. “That’s what the festival is about, after all.” He stretched out his hand for Martín, to get back up himself as well. Martín took his hand and got up. </p>
<p>“Okay, let’s go,” Martín said. “But you lead.”</p>
<p>Andrés looked at him in amusement, apparently not having expected Martín to suggest that.</p>
<p>“What? I’m a gladiator. I can’t dance,” Martín answered, a smile on his lips. </p>
<p>Andrés laughed and dragged him to the open place next to the bonfire, where people were already gathering to dance. </p>
<p>Once they were in the middle of the crowd, Andrés turned to Martín, his hand on his lower back. Feeling daring, Martín took a step closer towards him. The live music being played was slow, calming and they started moving to the rhythm.</p>
<p>They swayed around for a while, Martín looking at the ground so he wouldn't accidentally step on Andrés' toes. He tried to follow along, and even did a little pirouette in the middle of the song. The both of them were laughing, an obvious contrast to their previous conversation.</p>
<p>Martín felt something strange in his chest again, when he realised how Andrés had trusted him like that. Had told one of his, probably, deepest secrets. To him. </p>
<p>The music somehow got even slower after a while, and Andrés threw both of his arms so that he was holding Martín's shoulders. Martín let his own hands slide down to Andrés' waist, keeping them there securely.</p>
<p>"Thank you," Andrés whispered after a while of them just standing there, swaying on one tile.</p>
<p>Martín looked up from the ground, right into Andrés' beautiful brown eyes. The moonlight shining on his face made them stand out even more.</p>
<p>"For what?" he asked.</p>
<p>"For everything. For listening to me, earlier. For being there, reassuring me. For this dance, even. I like this, the time we're spending."</p>
<p>Martín didn't answer, too distracted by the movement of Andrés' lips. It was the second time that day he caught himself staring, the second time he felt that ridiculously stupid urge to—</p>
<p>"I'm sorry, that was probably stupid to say," Andrés trailed off, sounding a bit nervous. Martín realised then that he hadn't answered. </p>
<p>"<em>No</em>, I mean. Me too. I'm thankful for this time. I wish it would never stop," Martín admitted, sheepishly.</p>
<p>"It doesn't have to stop," Andrés answered.</p>
<p>“It doesn’t?” Martín asked, cursing himself for the hopeful undertone obvious in his voice.</p>
<p>“You can stay with me, for as long as you want,” Andrés said. </p>
<p>Martín looked up again and realised the proximity of Andrés’ face. Although neither of them had moved from their spot, he felt like they were closer, more intimate than before. He traced Andrés’ face again with his eyes, lingering on his lips once more, wanting to feel them, more than ever now. Andrés must have sensed him staring, because a second later, Martín felt Andrés hand touch his chin, tilting it upwards. </p>
<p>“Martín?” he whispered, a bit breathless. As if he’d heard Martín’s thoughts. </p>
<p>“Yeah?” Martín answered, his voice trembling.</p>
<p>“Kiss me,” Andrés said, but it came out in a hoarse whisper. </p>
<p>And so Martín did. Leaning forward, he connected their lips in a chaste kiss. Tasting Andrés, for the first time. He tastes like strawberries, and wine. It was an interesting combination, and Martín wanted more. He pressed another kiss to Andrés’ lips, more desperate this time. Andrés kissed back, mirroring Martín’s urgency. Their mouths were beautifully in sync, and Andrés had one of his hands buried in Martín’s hair before he knew it. Martín held Andrés at his waist securely. When he felt Andrés’ tongue poke at his bottom lip, asking for entrance, the butterflies in his stomach started to act up again and Martín swore he could feel the earth beneath them start to rumble. He allowed Andrés entrance, and they continued kissing and exploring each other's mouths for a while. Martín felt more than happy, he felt overjoyed.</p>
<p>All too soon, they had to seperate for air, and it was then that Martín realised the ground was <em> actually </em> trembling under their feet. He heard people all around him start to cheer. He made eye contact with Andrés, who was already staring at him fondly.</p>
<p>“That was…, <em> wow</em>,” he trailed off, smiling at Andrés, suddenly shy. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Andrés said, grinning. “The gods seem to agree.” </p>
<p>“What do you mean?” Martín asked curiously.</p>
<p>“I think Volcanus wanted to let us know he approves. Of this celebration, in honor of him, but also of <em> our celebration</em>,” Andrés explained, referring to the shaking of the earth that they had felt beneath them only seconds before.</p>
<p>Martín smiled at that, feeling elated. </p>
<p>“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” he answered. </p>
<p>“I’m always right,” Andrés murmured, stepping closer to Martín, connecting their lips in another soft kiss, and the rumbling of the ground started once more. “This right here, this is only our beginning. Blessed by the gods." </p>
<p>Martín smiled. He couldn't put into words how he felt. He felt like his life was <em>finally</em> complete. Like this was the missing piece and he now had the full puzzle done. Like he had everything he ever wanted.</p>
<p>He felt like it was more than he deserved.</p>
<p> </p>
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